It's no secret that I sometimes nod off in the recliner while watching the Food Network.
I put on my basement glasses to watch TV. They are my old prescription, not bifocals, not the ones I use for driving or taking in a high school basketball game. They just make the screen a bit clearer. A couple of times, I've picked them up from the table beside my chair to find a single fingerprint right in the middle of the left lens. I don't know what's up with that. The Pony sometimes shares the big-screen with me, but he swears that he never touches my glasses. And why would he?
An evening in front of the TV requires accessories. My go-to comfort items are a stuffed, chartreuse/royal blue/yellow snake that The Pony won at the school carnival three years ago, and a soft, soft chartreuse throw blanket with red, green, and white spots that I won at my sister's Christmas Eve party. Yes. My accessories are color-coordinated. By happenstance.
The snake serves as a neck support. It is just right. The throw is toasty warm. I blame it for my lapses into unconsciousness. When I start feeling drowsy, I lean way back in the recliner. Sometimes, I push the glasses up onto my head so as not to peer out from under the lenses at the TV. It would be too much trouble to take them off and lean over to put them on the table.
Last week, I awoke at 2:00 a.m. I'd been asleep for going on three hours. The throw was insulating me like an out-of-control electric blanket. I peeled it off and unreclined. I felt the glasses on my head. I didn't remember putting them up there, but nobody else was around to do it for me. I took them off.
The glasses were dripping with liquid. Huge droplets had condensed on the outside lens side. I know I was sweating. And I know that basements are the most humid part of a house. But really. I would have had to sweat like a cartoon character, squirts of perspiration shooting from my brow like so many reverse raindrops, to form the collection of water beads on those glasses.
What kind of freak am I?